


Galehaut was the rope

by berenice



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM unrelated to main characters, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Joanlock - Freeform, POV Joan Watson (Elementary), POV Sherlock Holmes, a bit of angst mayhaps?, mention of BDSM, they are softies for now because it's their first time okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berenice/pseuds/berenice
Summary: Joan ran to his voice without sparing a thought to his absolutely-non-alarming tone and when she slammed his bedroom door open she was completely out of breath. Inhaling violently, she tried to understand the situation she had come across. She failed.In which Joan comes home from a holiday and finds Sherlock in a very peculiar state.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Joan Watson (Elementary), Sherlock Holmes/Joan Watson (Elementary)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, this is my first fanfic ever and basically the first fictional thing I've ever written. Please be kind (if anyone is ever gonna read it, since the show ended like one year ago).  
> Anyways, this idea came to me in a dream when season 5 had just finished and I left the draft there all these years, kinda forgot about it. During this quarantine I found it and tried to develop it further aaand this came out. Unbeta'd so tell me about any mistake that will totally be in there.  
> Hope you enjoy!

As Joan entered the Brownstone with the bulky suitcase that had contained her whole possessions for the past month, she was assailed by silence. 

“Looks like nobody’s home” she thought.

Putting her bags down and taking her coat off, she started reminiscing on her latest and most unattended vacation: during the past month she had paid a short visit to her mother Mary and had then proceeded to fly off with her sister to some fancy Spa in Budapest of which she hadn’t bothered remembering the name, and she had done so with the only purpose of relaxing.  
That sure sounded weird even when she recalled it in her head. She never had time to relax, nor did she feel the need to. However, after Sherlock’s reveal of his “medical condition”, as he cryptically liked to call it, and his doctor’s strict order to limit his work activity, he had expressed the will to remain alone for some time. 

\--------o--------

One evening, as they entered through their front door after solving a case, he told her:  
“Joan, I believe I need time to process all of this. Alone. If you go to your room you’ll find I bought you two tickets to Budapest. Now, obviously you’re free to take whoever you like but if I may forward a piece of advice, I’d suggest you bring your sister with you, I think you two would benefit from some quality time.” 

Joan was baffled. Why was he trying to ship her off to Europe? Should she trust him with his health in this particular time of his life?  
Knowing he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer, she went upstairs and called Lin, who was more than happy to hear her proposal. After that, Joan went back downstairs and found Sherlock in the kitchen, feeding Clyde some lettuce.

“Why do you want me to leave?” she asked him in a calm tone.

“I don’t _want_ you to leave, Watson. I simply thought you deserved a vacation and some family time. Since my medical condition made me unable to carry out my job normally and this affects your work as well, I figured it was the best time for you to relax a bit.” He answered matter-of-factly, without lifting his gaze from the turtle, apparently engrossed in his task.

“Sherlock. Look at me.” He dropped the leaf of lettuce.  
“You know you don’t have to go through this alone. You know I’ll be here for you because we are friends and I care about you, right?” Now he looked at her straight in the eyes, prompting her to continue.  
“And so does Marcus… and the Captain, even if at the moment he doesn’t want to show it.” Not liking the turn the speech was taking, he resumed his task.

Despite being used to his manners, Joan wanted to eye-roll at the child in front of her. However, she just said: 

“I thought you were past the point where you couldn’t admit to yourself that some people in the world actually love you. Your attitude is only proving to me that you are on the verge of doing something you’ll regret. I’m calling Lin to-“ Sherlock didn’t even let her finish.

“Need I remind you that you haven’t been my sober companion in quite some time? I am perfectly capable of looking after myself and besides, as you said, there are _at least_ two other people in the world that would care if something happened to me. Still, I don’t see them here trying to convince me I need to be nursed like an infant.”

“Well that’s only because -” she honestly didn’t know how to complete the sentence.  
Sherlock was looking at her once again though, his eyebrows frowned as question marks.  
“Listen Sherlock, I am not saying I need to stay here to control you but you _are_ suffering from a mental condition caused by a violent concussion. I’m just worried about you.” 

“And I am assuring you that I’ll be absolutely fine. I need you to trust me on this one, Watson.” He said, resuming his neutral tone.  
At that point, Joan could only take a deep breath and accept the situation.

\--------o--------

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden scream: **“Hello?!”**

She literally jumped off the floor. Once she was back on the ground she put her hand to her chest, trying to ease the maddening beat of her heart. 

“Joan? Is that you?”

The sound of her name grounded her again and in a second it made her realise the voice that had pronounced it was definitely familiar. She sprinted up the stairs chanting:  
“Sherlock? Where are you?”

“Up here-” he sounded… bored, almost. “Here in my _bedroom_.” He said with spite in his voice. He had never needed a bedroom before, since he basically didn’t sleep, and when he did, he found himself comfortable on the sofa or even on an armchair.

Joan ran to his voice without sparing a thought to his absolutely-non-alarming tone and when she slammed his bedroom door open she was completely out of breath.  
Inhaling violently, she tried to understand the situation she had come across. She failed. She blinked a couple of times and scanned the room. She failed again. 

**“Sherlock what the hell?!”** Joan shouted, her voice going two octaves higher than normal. 

The man was lying down on his bed facing the ceiling, completely naked except for some black boxers, with his arms stretched above his head and wrists tightly tied to the slats of the headboard. 

“Welcome home, Watson!” He spoke while trying to lift his head to look at her, but soon gave up.“Would you mind untying me?” 

Joan was still standing at the door, breathing hard, partly for the fright he had caused her, partly for bolting up the stairs and partly… Never mind.  
Shaking her head, she approached the large disheveled bed and climbed it. She knelt right next to Sherlock’s left armpit, the mid-thigh skirt she was wearing exposing a bit more of her naked legs, that were now slightly pressing into the side of his torso to enable her to turn and face the headboard.  
Her gaze went from the ropes to the man’s face, throwing daggers at him. 

“Next time you scare me this way, _I’m_ the one that’s gonna be torturing you.” She stated simply. 

_“Oh come on now_ Watson, don’t tell me you’ve never enjoyed some good old BDSM!” 

Her eyebrows shot up so high they almost touched the line of her hair.  
Before she could reply, he articulated: 

“Yes, I know, it’s none of my business and whatnot… But honestly, as a doctor you cannot deny the countless benefits deriving from coital activity, especial-“ She tugged at his wrists, making him flinch. Another warning gaze was shot. And ignored. 

“Especially the ones deriving from the release of oxytocin when you reach an orgasm. Now of course you could object that all of this violence is unnecessary to the final goal but I beg to differ, I personally believe that a dash of pain fits just perfectly among the vastitudes of pleasure.” He said it all in one breath. 

“Are you done?” She asked in the most annoyed tone she could manage, trying to hide the undeniable amusement of the situation: Sherlock Holmes, best police consultant on Earth, genius and incarnation of the word brooding, was explaining to her the joys of bondage while being strapped to a bed for God knows how many hours.  
That was a good question. 

“How long have you been here?” Joan asked without waiting for an answer to her previous query, taking her eyes off his face and starting to manoeuvre the ropes. 

“Well, assuming I’m still able to detect the hour based on the position of the sun, if now it’s something like 3 in the afternoon... I would safely say twelve hours from when we started and nine from the moment lovely _Cherry Dominatrixx_ left.” 

“Can you feel your hands?” 

He responded by eagerly moving his fingers, brushing Watson’s own hands that were now probing the bindings to try and understand were they began or ended.  
Ignoring the soft patterns he was impressing on her skin, she moved her hands behind the headboard, noticing that the main knot was placed in the middle of the large central slat and that, even though she could reach it when stretching her right arm, she surely wouldn’t be able to untie it from that position. 

Joan frowned. How was it possible to tie a knot behind there? The person that had done it should have been standing on top of… 

“I’m afraid this kind of knot is designed to come undone only in _particular_ circumstances.” Sherlock said just as she came to the realisation herself. 

She looked at him with wide eyes, feeling slightly flustered.  
“Are you telling me that I should straddle your face in order to free you? Because I’ll let you grow old right here if that’s the case.” 

He only shrugged in response. Or better, tried to and barely managed to rise his shoulders one inch, sporting an annoying smirk.  
Huffing, Joan just rolled her eyes and passed her left leg above his torso, landing on his sternum. Her legs were now brushing the outside of his armpits and her forsaken skirt went even higher. She took a moment to fold it beneath her, so that her panties weren’t touching his skin. She couldn’t have concentrated on anything else otherwise, she knew. 

“This is just ridiculous.” Joan’s left arm grabbed the headboard for leverage, while the other reached behind it to find the knot. She still couldn’t reach it.  
“I _can_ and _will_ manage in some other way.” 

This time, she bent forward, reaching the knot with both arms and preventing herself from falling on the man under her by tightening her legs, that were now spread open by his upper arms. At least her crotch wasn’t touching him anymore, even tough it was definitely warmer and, damn her, wetter. 

“I’m sorry Watson but you’ll never make it. As I’ve already explained-“ 

“Shut up!” She grunted, and eventually gave up. 

Daring him to utter another word, she stared right into his eyes as she climbed over his shoulders and slid her calves below his stretched arms, placing her centre on the soft spot where his collarbones met. However, it seemed like Sherlock had no intention to speak, since he looked like he had forgotten every single word he knew.  
All he could do was stare at her form with his lips slightly parted: starting from her lap (that he could have reached easily by bringing his head forward if he hadn’t been tied), he slowly trailed his gaze up to her concealed navel, her ribs, her exposed but elegant cleavage. When his eyes landed on her face, they lingered on her lips for a second before reaching hers.  
He felt hyperactive all of a sudden, like he was receiving an electrical shock, and his entire body shivered when he saw her blushing under his gaze while being above him in any other sense. 

Joan broke the spell by rising her hips to bend once again towards the headboard and, after a few minutes of struggling, she managed to discard the damn knot.  
As soon as they were free, Sherlock’s hands landed on the patterned fabric of Joan’s skirt and slightly gripped her hips.  
Looking down, she found Sherlock’s eyes once again waiting for hers, a resolute impression on their pale shade. They prompted her to bring her hand up and lightly trace the curve of his brow, caressing down until it was cupping his right cheek. He nudged her palm slightly, waiting. 

The moment seemed so nebulous. 

Something that had always belonged to the realm of possibilities and maybes and quite invasive dreams was now on the verge of becoming a reality more than it had ever done before, and Joan needed to take a decision. She knew from his look that he was giving her the power to decide if they should forever change the essence of their relationship. 

Reminiscing her days as a surgeon, when quick decision making had been imperative, Joan took Sherlock’s hands and removed them from her hips.  
A resigned look fell on the man beneath her. 

But it was soon replaced by a newfound expression of amazement as Joan’s fingers reached behind her to unzip her skirt and then curled at the hem as they began to ramp it up her waist, allowing her to remove both the skirt and the light cream blouse in one take.  
Now only clad in her quite ordinary bra and panties, Joan scooted back, caressing his arms with her legs. As she reached his hips, she bent froward, resting her forearms at the sides of his head, her face inches from Sherlock’s. 

The man hadn’t moved a muscle, his hands still flat on the mattress where he had let them fall, now resting in the proximity of her calves.  
She observed his features, the pale green eyes, the pointy nose, the light scruff that framed his lips… That mouth never seemed to be resting, always trying to catch up with his whirlwind of chaotic but brilliant thoughts. 

And yet she had managed to shut him up for at least seven to twelve minutes, she wasn’t sure.  
For the first time she thought that maybe he wasn’t sure either, maybe he had lost sense of his presence in the world just by having her above him, no need for pain. 

“No ropes.” She _finally_ whispered, lips so close but still out of touch, eyes searching for an understanding. 

“Just you and I.” His coarse voice surprised her for a second, but then he tilted his head up a fraction, and his lips were on hers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! A second chapter is on its way (if university doesn't kill me first).  
> Drop a comment to let me know if you thought this totally sucked or was ok or was good or whatever, it is much appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 2

It was a soft kiss, all slight brushes and gentle sucking, both of them still somewhat incredulous to the situation.

Joan was basking in the taste of his mouth: those lips, always drawn in a straight line or a grimace or at best a subtle grin, were now so pliant under her own, in contrast with the pricking feeling of his stubble. 

Sherlock finally moved his hands, caressing her calves and moving up her thighs. She shivered as his fingers traced the delicate skin where the back of her inner thigh met her ass, the digits barely touching her lips, so close to where she needed them yet not enough to get any actual pleasure. 

He didn’t linger. He kept exploring, moving upward and caressing her back, up, up, up, until his hands were tangled in her hair.  
He moaned into the kiss, evidently satisfied with the map he had traced of her body. 

Joan couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so liberated, completely free from the myriad of concerns she was faced with every second of every day. Oh, did she need this.

More than anything, she was shocked by the sense of rightness that emanated from deep within her and cut out any possible anxiety. His touch felt so… natural. 

She scoffed at herself. Of course it felt natural, this was Sherlock after all. The person she knew better in the world and that probably knew her better than anyone else. There was no point in trying to hide anything from him, much less desire.

Even though they had been playing their little game for years, she knew that he felt her need, and she felt his as well. 

Nothing was ever really hidden between them, they were just too scared to loose each other to actually _be_ with each other. Too tangled up in one another’s life to risk it.

Apparently, the odds had changed.

Turning her mouth, she started to plant kisses on his neck. Intoxicated by the lingering scent of his aftershave she lightly nipped at his jugular, soothing the skin with her tongue. 

He suddenly gripped her ass _hard_ and groaned under her, pushing her down to grind on his boxers. She moaned in return. The proof of how much she was affecting him making her more and more bold. 

As she scooted back to slowly trail open-mouthed kisses down his chest and abdomen, he couldn’t reach her back anymore and had to let go of her. 

Once she got to his navel she noticed smugly how his hands were gripping the sheets beside her head. Oh, he was enjoying this.  
Then, a realisation hit her. 

She stopped her descent and sat up, resting on his thighs. She had completely forgotten about it.

_There goes your medical career then, forgetting about injuries because you’re too busy lusting after your patient._

Delicately, she took his right wrist and lifted his arm to inspect it: the rope had left signs all over it due to the excessive number of hours it had been put to use, and while on the outside of the wrist only faint red lines had appeared, the inside was bruised from the patterned material, a purplish colour offending the usual pallor of his skin. 

Joan lightly traced her fingers on the inner marks... and he whimpered.  
Shooting her gaze to his face, ready to apologise for hurting him now and not having checked on him earlier, she was stopped by the look in his eyes. 

_Oh._ All right then.

Never leaving his gaze lest she make something wrong and actually hurt him, which she knew he wouldn’t mind but it was not the point of what she was trying to do here, she brought his wrist to her mouth and began to trace the bruises with the tip of her tongue, the lightest of touches, starting furthest from his palm to work up to the most sensitive spot were the veins surfaced.

Another whimper escaped him and this time he moaned out loud: 

“God Joan-“ 

She started kissing his skin then, sucking lightly with every brush of her lips. Her left hand reached the front of his boxers and began caressing the outline of his hard cock. She could feel his warmth even trough the fabric. 

He was panting now, eyes closed, head turned back.  
He was perfect. And despite everything she was loving the power he had granted her over him.

Desperately grinding on his upper thigh, Joan tried to ease the need pulsing at her core, but she knew she needed more.

As she moved her mouth up towards his fingers, Sherlock snatched his arm from her gentle grip and, grabbing her waist with both hands, turned them so that he was above her. 

Their faces were close once again, and he didn’t waste a second before attacking her mouth while thrusting his still covered length on her lower belly. The fabric between them was personally offending her at this point.

He broke the kiss with a nibble on her lower lip. 

“I want you so much.” He whispered on her mouth.  
“You have no idea.” She answered while tracing patterns on his nape.

Welcoming her tongue once again, Sherlock reached for her breasts. He moved the cup of her bra aside and teased the left nipple with the pad of his thumb, circling it, pinching slightly. 

Joan was now the panting one. To be fair, they both were.

As he reached to her back to find the clasps, Joan took the chance to skim her hands on his firm ass and bring his boxers down his thighs.

Feeling her hands on him, Sherlock sucked a quick mark on her neck before sitting up slightly, tugging on her panties in return. Not missing out on the opportunity to caress the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, he parted her legs. 

The calloused fingers held her thighs while his thumbs parted her outer lips, brushing her clit and coming down again, starting to work up to a rhythm.  
His erection was now inches from her, but still too far. 

In his gaze, focused on the task, Joan saw complete determination and maybe a hint of amazement. Something she had never seen on his features before.  
That same look made her run out of patience: tugging on his shoulders, she practically yanked him down above her once again. She needed him _now_ , and his heated skin was finally at her entrance. 

“Shall we take-“  
“I have the implant we can-”  
They rushed out simultaneously.

She knew he had all kinds of information about her, but still, she was glad he'd asked. She also knew that something so trivial as the possibility of contracting a venereal disease could never slip from a mind like Sherlock’s; he got tested on the regular and made sure all his partners did the same.

“Yes.” She whispered on his lips, urging him. 

Finally, _finally_ she felt him slide inside her. Foreheads pressed together, both of them keeping their breath until he was all the way in, and releasing a simultaneous moan as he dragged out.

Joan shuddered at the sheer bliss of having him inside her, at the pressure of his body on hers, his hand fondling her breast, his breath hot and moist on her neck. 

She had forgotten how good it felt to succumb to one’s instincts. And boy, had that instinct been picking at her mind for some time. 

Working up to a rhythm that had her eyes turn, he reached for her left hand and tied his fingers with hers, bringing their joint arms above her head. The need to be connected to her in any possible way cementing itself as an axiom, the only thing his brain accepted as an absolute, self-evident certainty.

“Joan“ He whispered between heated kisses.

Her name on his lips elated her. She wanted to be the only one to ever hear him pronounce it. 

He kept murmuring it while moving to her neck, hoping his brain wouldn’t be so cruel as to fail him on sensations as well as memories. 

He had to make sure that whatever happened to him, whatever his forsaken brain decided to erase, he would be able to remember, if not the actual act, at least the taste of her mouth, the sound of her heart, or the way she gasped a little every time he whispered her name on her skin.

Sherlock decided that could be enough for him. It was the bare minimum, but if he could bring himself to secure one single cardinal point to navigate him through the uncertainty of a life with an unreliable brain, he knew nothing could make him feel more stable than the person he shared his life with.  
No one but Joan.

“Sherlock, please touch m-“ She managed to say before he snapped out of his thoughts, and his left thumb on her clit gifted him with a new sound to carve deep into his mind. 

With his fingers pressed on her, circling her most sensitive spot at a maddening pace, she felt him everywhere: on her, inside her, above her… and the sudden sense of completeness overwhelmed her.

She came with a silent scream, dragging the nails of her free hand on his shoulder, clutching him, refusing to let an inch of air separate them in this moment. 

His release came soon after, the feeling of her orgasm on his cock and her nails on his back making it at last impossible to deny himself his own pleasure.

Suddenly exhausted, he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck and hair to bask in the sweet notes of her shampoo. 

She started caressing his short hair, a little amused. Being tied for twelve hours must have made it difficult to sleep, or maybe he had simply refused to, in defiance of his own body. 

“Sherlock?” She inquired.

He responded by turning them once again, so that she was spread on his chest. He had glossy, tired eyes but a familiar smirk on his lips.

She reached up and kissed it away with a sweep of her tongue and a gentle bite. Now he only grunted in half-warning:

“Joan…”

Sporting a satisfied smile, she traced the pad of her thumb over his right brow as she had done earlier, caressing his stubbled cheek. 

“How are you feeling?” She couldn’t help asking. 

“We both know your deducting capabilities are excellent.”

She rolled her eyes. He had never let her off the hook. She was kinda glad he still didn’t.

Sherlock kissed her head tenderly as she rested her cheek on his heart. The beat comforted her more than she was willing to admit.

“I feel spectacular.” 

A second later, knowing perfectly well she wasn’t asking about the sex:

“I’m okay, Joan.” 

He felt more than saw her smile on his skin.

After a few minutes of silence, Sherlock felt his perception starting to slide away, the pressure of sleep urging him to take a break. 

“So, how was your holiday?” He said quietly, so as not to rouse her in case she, like the majority of human beings who didn’t feel the need to fight against slumber, was already in the world of dreams.

“Sleep, Sherlock.” She planted a small kiss on his sternum. Her husky tone an indication that she’d indeed been almost asleep. 

Sherlock took her words as a command, pretending it wasn’t up to him to decide to give up his state of consciousness. Closing his eyes, he focused on the pressure of her body on his, letting the delicate rhythm of her breathing lull him out of awareness.

A last thought flickered through his mind: 

_she truly had freed him from his bindings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to write an ending!  
> Honestly, I didn't think writing smut while also trying to create character development would be so hard, because in my experience as a reader it always felt super natural. So kudos to all the amazing writers that make it _seem and feel_ so effortless!
> 
> I hope you found the story at least credible, which I think is the basis for writing fanfic, because if you don't feel like the characters you're reading about are the ones you know and love, then what's the point?
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who has read, left kudos or dropped a comment and to the people that will read in the future :)


End file.
